He Is Not My Friend But He Is With Me
by The Voice in the Wilderness
Summary: Back to the place where we first met...again


_All "InuYasha" characters belong to Rumiko Takahashi and associated copyright holders. No money is being made from this fan fiction. No infringement is intended._

"He is not my friend, but he is with me

Like a shadow, he's with the foot that falls…

He's the Thin Man, with a date for me

To arrive at some point

I don't know when it'll be…"

Suzanne Vega, "Thin Man", Nine Objects of Desire, 1996

_He is not my friend, but he is with me._ Thin long black-booted feet turned purposeful arabesques in the thin, fine sand. Bending over the carcass, he carefully dissected its last moments from the furrows, claw-dug and flung with hungry abandon that surrounded the ragged, half-eaten thing before him. The flies were coming now and the shiny, black-red gobbits that flecked the impromptu abattoir upon this dusty track no doubt smelled of savory paradise. Even in his nose, sifting amongst the layers of scent-painted events that must have transpired not an hour before, the sharp reek of rusted-iron blood and the torn, ragged musk of death permeated the entire chain of events. He could smell everything that had happened. It was the nature of the world and affected him not. He was not of this world.

"Do you know this human, my Lord?", squeaked out of the overly-curious retainer as he gawked at the infinite grace of his master's pause.

"It is nothing." His voice is the last flat reverberation of an iron bell.

_This human showed us needless compassion, unwanted service, and worst transgression of all, the disgusting weakness of utter devotion. We are the rulers, the protectors of this world and those who dwell within. We must do what is right._

He hated the thrumming voice within his head whenever the sword deigned to speak to him. He didn't need or want the servant he had now; what did he care if this ragged corpse claimed a debt from him? Death cancelled all when humans were concerned: perhaps if they were meant to be cared about or useful, they would not have been made so fragile and short-lived! He blinked slowly in irritation, the very act of denying the world his sight for a fraction of a moment making him feel somewhat less harried.

Until the sword at his hip began to pulse.

His father's voice was louder in his head than the slow gong of his own heartbeat, demanding he, Sesshoumaru, the most dread lord of these lands; a being who wielded more power than any other save the gods – listen, bend his great proud knee upon the dirt and do… one… stinking… bloody… dead…_human_…a damn favor! He tasted bile at the thought of such subservience and snarled in metal fury at the very suggestion.

Still he stood, tasting cooling blood and dried-up death on his tongue.

_You are the lord of these lands and their protector! You were yourself protected and given succor by this human girl-child and yet you refuse to repay such an honorable act in kind? You are not some ragged mongrel; you are Taiyoukai! You must learn sacrifice and the humility of a merciful ruler! How dare you harden your heart against the service of those in your care! Are you an honor-less dog?_

His father's spectral voice boomed loud and furious in his inner ear.

Sesshoumaru narrowed his yellow eyes in cold-hearted disdain. He was not flawed like his father and no cracks of soft, liquid mercy marred the fire-blackened iron of his heart – nor would they ever. His power over this world was absolute and it was only the strong that survived and prospered. Who wanted to rule a vast kingdom of the weak and foolish? The thin blade rattled insistently in its sheath. It felt like his father's soul was heaving itself hard, back and forth against the charmed confinement of the black lacquered sheath, his disappointment and disapproval a veritable cloud that clung to his stubborn son's clothes, his hair, his pelt.

_Who else have given you everything they owned and asked only that you do what you were sired for – to lead, to protect?_

His father's voice had dropped into a deep whisper. He could feel a hard, heavy hand upon his shoulder and resisted the utter urge to shrug it off and twist out of the way. Cutting his eyes to the squat and servile imp at his feet, the silver taiyoukai rolled his eyes at his father's ghost-blade.

_Yes, that one has as well. But this one will not only serve you, my son. This one will love you. This one will burn bright at your side without question. Without her, your power will be stunted, glory-less and empty. You can reverse death, you can stoop to conquer – but what is your existence without purpose? _

I will become the most powerful being in this world, Father – even more powerful than you. It is all the purpose I need. Love is a mortal weakness, if that were not the truth – you would not be dead now.

The flies buzzed and began to help themselves to the staring brown eyes that still begged to reflect his silver perfection.

_You are already nearly there, my son. You know this and hide from it in these aimless wanderings. What will you do when you reach the end of that road? _

The slightest twitch of his clenched jaw shouted his fury to the still forest. The whole world held its breath.

_What will you do with all that power and no one to protect?_

The sword lay suddenly still in its wooden tomb at his waist. An eternity passed. He blinked slowly. His father's voice curled around his cold heart. He is not my friend, but he is with me, Sesshoumaru reminded himself and turned his father's wisdom over in his vast, echoing mind.

_What will you do with no one to protect?_

"So, Tensaiga – you wish to be drawn." He declared and drew the blued blade from its resting place, carefully watching as its spectral glow warped the visible world around the dead girl on the ground. Grey wraiths surfaced like fingerprints upon the girl's mangled body, where they were busy binding it tight for its final journey.

Did he see that their ghostly hands lingered tenderly upon the smooth white cheek, or stroked once too often down small fragile legs in their grim work?

Did he imagine the leering toothy grin that flashed at the wedge of thin, fine skin that peeked at him from where the threadbare rags that covered her little body rode askew across her broken back?

Bright yellow fire burned high and loud and fast within his once cold heart and the feel of cloven ghostly skulls beneath his pitiless weapon was so very, very satisfying.

Wounds knit in the blink of even his perfect eye and the harrowing hiss of escaping air from a punctured chest filled nearly instantly into the deep rush of a small bellows being pumped full for the first time in a new lifetime.

She blinked the flies out of her pretty brown eyes and replaced them with her most cherished possession: his towering reflection.

"Jaken."

"Yes, my Lord?" Somehow, the toad's servile tone was now easier to bear.

"Let's go."


End file.
